My little friend, her small body strong with large spirit, carries a drum, barefoot down the dirt path, my mountain home, the forest green.
The strap of my drum digs and hurts but I carry on, on and on, up the little valley until our toes find the tinkling waters, the slippery rocks, the pokey pine needles, the fire ring.
We sit like it's a normal day, eat food, start a fire.
But then the earth, the rocks in the earth, the rocks of the earth, the rocking earth speaks.
And I play.
"Play your drum to these waves" I say.
My beautiful little friend and I play.
The sky is clear like it has been for weeks, the air tight and dry, it's hot and sunny but the arms of our ladies of the trees shade us, take the edge off, keep the heat from our skin to let us feel the heat from within.
The waves become stronger and my skin is goose prickled, I look at her and she looks at me, our eyes twinkling in wonder and potential, don't stop, don't stop, I feel it coming, the sky turns orange and pink and purple with rays of gold, don't stop, the clouds have looked our way.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo the sound comes out, from the deepest part of me, I don't know it's mine until later, from a distance.
This force like a magnet pulling trillions of microscopic metal beads behind my skin, a power rising from the ground, from the air, electricity with no apology, a boiling up of potency....
Our bodies vibrating, the drums, the voice, all an orchestra conducted,
by something coming, something almost here, the singing of something about to happen. The clouds have gathered a little to the west, I see them and greet them like old friends, hi and thank you for coming. The beat of our drumming in time with the thrumming, pulsing waves.
There is pressure, a skyrocketing joy, my heart cannot contain it, the rapture of reverberation!!!!!
Suddenly, lightening behind my little friend.
We are shocked into stillness, staring wide eyed for a second, an eternity, and then,
The deafening clap of he who has arrived. The stretching and combustion of ions. The boom below our feet, the shaking of our teeth.
The power is here, and the power wants to play.
We are the mouse to the cat, teasing, our brave, raw hands beating, coaxing, are you really there, cat? Have you really come to eat me?
The flashes that light up the sky are closer, the thunder louder, and between rumbles and bursts we are over and over again blinded and deafened yet.....illuminated and more certain of his voice.
We play with this storm until it begins to pour, until the lightning is overhead, until the blasts threaten to crack our skulls and we are terrified beyond measure and things have become windy and cold and grey and wet and out of control, and the very wild spirits prance behind the warily waving leaves, and the tension in the air is palpable but we have no butter knives to cut it, and we are out of place here.
And then it recedes.
Within minutes it is calm, and the sun peeks out, and the air is fresh, and the ground is damp, wet with the footprints of the others. We lay back and laugh, and cry, and hold each other.